Metamorphosis
by MaryRoyale
Summary: Struggling to find his way after the War, Gregory Goyle lives a life of seclusion. A regular visit to Diagon Alley finds him roped into art lessons with Luna Lovegood, and that changes everything. Submission for QLFC Season 2 semifinals.


_**The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition- Season 2 Semifinals**_

_**Team:**__ Falmouth Falcons_

_**Author: **__MaryRoyale_

_**Position:**__ Beater #2_

_**Semifinal Challenge: **__Pay close attention to your first and last sentences, writers! And the order (within a team) you post your fics in. Your first sentence will be the last sentence of the person who posted before you, and your last sentence will be the first sentence of the fic of the person who next posts their fic._

_**Title:**__ Metamorphosis  
__**Official Disclaimer**__: The original characters of this story are the property of the J.K. Rowling. No infringement of pre-existing copyright is intended. It is my contention that this work of fan fiction is fair use under copyright law. No monies received for receipt of this work. _

_**Prompts:**__"__It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone." ― Marilyn Monroe, "You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star." ― Friedrich Nietzsche_

_**Pairing: **__Luna Lovegood/Gregory Goyle, if you squint and tilt your head slightly_

_**Rating: **__ T  
__**Word Count:**__ approx. 2600_

_**A/N: **__This, like so many things, can be laid at the door of the Changing Room for the Falmouth Falcons. We had a strange conversation that led to "Slytherins Over Flowers" that led to Luna giving art lessons to Goyle._

_No matter the regret, there's no going back_. Those words had become Greg's mantra since the end of the war. Every night when he woke screaming and every morning when he slowly dragged himself out of bed and into the breakfast room he repeated them to himself. Lately, Greg had had truly awful dreams about Vincent. He wasn't completely surprised. The fifth anniversary of Vincent's death was coming up, and he usually did have horrible nightmares in the weeks leading up to it.

"Bugger this," Greg muttered.

Habit brought him to the breakfast room where he'd eaten breakfast every day as a small child. It was still jarring to walk into the room and find it completely empty. Mother had died during his final year at Hogwarts and there had been rumors that her death had been an example for others. Those same rumors whispered that Goyle Sr. had carried out Voldemort's orders himself. Father was in Azkaban and Greg couldn't really find it within himself to be upset about that. He had freed all of the House Elves after the Ministry had declared him Head of the House of Goyle. He was the only one left, and there were days where even that felt like one too many Goyles in the world.

Through the breakfast room and into the kitchens Goyle shuffled. He filled the kettle with water and magically lit the stove. Then he made himself a bacon butty and sat down to eat his breakfast. Mother wasn't there to act shocked or horrified that he was sitting in the kitchen. Father wasn't there to thunder on about his duties and responsibilities. It was quite nice. He munched his sandwich and drank his tea.

"Nothing for it," Greg murmured aloud. "I'll have to go to Diagon Alley."

As a child trips to Diagon Alley had been fun and exciting. Now they were awkwardly unpleasant, and Greg usually travelled under a glamour so that people wouldn't recognize him. He put off going until he was out of almost everything. In fact, he'd even taken to shopping in Muggle stores for the blessed anonymity. Still, there were some things that one couldn't get at a Muggle shop, and for those things he ventured cautiously into Diagon Alley.

It took time after the war for wizarding Britain to catch its breath and recover. Slowly but surely the shops on Diagon Alley reopened. Today, he'd forgot to cast his glamour, and each upturned nose or carefully averted face made his lips tighten until he was scowling at everyone he passed. Greg slipped into Fantastical Flora, the little bell tinkling as he entered.

"Mr. Goyle, what a pleasure to see you again," Mrs. Japes caroled at him cheerfully.

"Mrs. Japes." Greg nodded politely.

"A rose wreath with rosemary and ivy accents, yes?" Mrs. Japes cocked her head to one side and looked up at him expectantly.

"Yes Mrs. Japes." Greg stood awkwardly next to the counter as he waited for her to ready his order.

Slowly and cautiously he parsed out a flyer with careful lettering:

_Unleash the Inner You_

_Art Classes Offered _

_to All Levels_

_Enquire at No. 91 Diagon Alley_

"Are you interested, Mr. Goyle?" Mrs. Japes asked as she brought the wreath up to the counter.

Greg started and flushed at being caught reading. He prayed that his lips hadn't been moving this time. "What me? Mucking about with paint and whatnot?" He gave a sharp laugh.

Mrs. Japes gave him a hopeful little smile. "It's just that, well, poor Luna hasn't had any takers yet and I always feel so badly for the little dear."

"Luna?" Greg echoed slowly. Even among wizarding Britain Luna was uncommon. In fact, Greg could only think of one witch with that name. "Not... not Luna Lovegood?"

Mrs. Japes beamed at him then. "Do you know her? She's the dearest little thing, and she's ever so keen to help people discover their inner eye or whatever it is."

"We went to Hogwarts together," Greg offered weakly.

"You should go," Mrs. Japes decided and gave him a little nod. "Yes, it will be good for you to socialize with people again."

Greg blinked at her. "What do you mean?"

Mrs. Japes smiled at him and patted his hand comfortingly. "You're lonely, dearie. It doesn't take a genius to see that."

"It's better to be unhappy alone than unhappy with someone," Greg muttered. He grimaced and shook his head. "My parents taught me that."

Mrs. Japes' perpetual smile faltered. "Well," she murmured a little sadly. She patted his hand again. "It wouldn't hurt to try it out, would it?"

Greg sighed. There were times where it was best to give in gracefully. Living with Draco Malfoy for seven years had taught him that. "Yes, all right. I'll try it out."

Mrs. Japes gave him another beatific smile and pressed the wreath in his arms. She refused to accept payment insisting that he if he would only take an art class from 'poor little Luna' then she was well and truly paid. Greg smothered a snort of disbelief.

Anyone who had ever been on the other end of Luna Lovegood's wand would never think to use the words 'poor' or 'little' with her name. Luna had a mean hexing hand and a nasty cursing repertoire. There'd been one time that he'd spent _weeks_ with the most awful green, weeping pustules all over rather delicate parts of him. Then there had been the time that their House had been infested with Gibbering Humdingers. He'd thought that everyone in Slytherin was going to be driven mad before Snape finally figured out how to drive the blasted things out. Still, a wizard's word was his bond. He sighed heavily, slipped the wreath over one arm, and made his way to No. 91 Diagon Alley.

"Do come in," Luna called dreamily.

Greg paused uncertainly on the doorstep. Then he rolled his eyes at his own hesitation and opened the door. He slipped in and shut the door behind him.

"Do watch out for the Tufted Primble. I've only just got him and he's still a bit leery of strangers," Luna added as she came into the room. She paused in the doorway. "Gregory Goyle."

"Miss Lovegood." Greg nodded politely.

Luna's eyes flicked to his wreath. "Mrs. Jape sent you."

"Er, sort of, yes." Greg shifted anxiously from foot to foot.

"Do you... do you _like_ art?" Luna asked with a slightly skeptical expression.

Greg shrugged. "Never really had a chance to like it or dislike it. Father didn't hold with art."

Luna watched him solemnly for a moment. "I suppose not," she agreed. "When are you free?"

_Every bloody day_. Greg supposed that would make him seem pathetic, and though he might _be_ pathetic he certainly didn't need to announce it. "Erm... Wednesdays?" Luna kept watching him expectantly so after a moment he offered, "and... and Fridays?"

Luna nodded. "Wednesdays and Fridays would be perfect." She smiled at him wistfully. "It just so happens that I have those days free."

/\/\/\/\

Art was a lot harder than he thought, especially trees. He squinted at the brown blobs on his canvas and sighed.

"I'm absolute crap at this," he muttered.

"Not at all," Luna murmured from just behind him. She studied his painting carefully. "I think... you're trying too hard."

Greg scowled. "It's just slapping paint on canvas, innit? How can I be trying too hard?" He demanded. His grip on his paintbrush tightened so much that it cracked.

Luna sighed and took the paintbrush from him. She patted his hand absently. "It isn't just slapping paint on canvas. I can tell that you don't believe that whenever I watch you paint. You are always so focused, and you apply the brush just so."

"I like order," he muttered.

Luna chuckled, but her amusement didn't make him feel as though she was laughing _at _him. Luna was like that though—she never made him feel stupid, or belittled him. She always encouraged Greg and praised his hard work.

"Gregory," Luna sighed. Greg stiffened next to her. She'd never addressed him by his first name before.

"Luna," he countered in a soft, gentle voice that he used only with her.

"Art isn't about order, or, well, not exactly. Art should be about what you feel, or about what you want to say. Art uses different media to express feeling and emotion. It comes from deep inside you in that primordial, chaotic place where there are no words. _That_ is what you want to put on the canvas," Luna explained.

Greg frowned at his canvas. "I don't think I have that," he muttered at last.

Luna shook her head at him. "You do," she insisted. "You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star."

Greg snorted. "The very last thing anyone would ever accuse me of is being a dancing star."

"Just try. Please?" Luna looked up at him hopefully. "Don't try to get it 'right'. There is no right or wrong. Just... paint."

"I'll try," he agreed. He gave her a weak smile. "Can I get another paint brush?"

/\/\/\/\

"You're doing much better," Luna told him in an encouraging voice. She hovered near his elbow and eyed his latest piece critically. "You're starting put more of yourself on the canvas."

Greg frowned at the canvas. "I thought I was putting all of me on there," he muttered. He sighed. "I'm never going to get the hang of this art thing."

Luna shrugged. "It's not something that occurs immediately. It's something that takes time." She gave a small gasp and seemed to vibrate next to him. "I have just the thing!" She darted out of the room, and was back in just a moment with a book in her hands.

Greg stiffened automatically and flinched back when she handed the book to him. Luna froze with her hand extended.

"What's the matter?" She asked with a worried frown.

"I don't read," he muttered and he could feel a dull flush creeping up his neck.

Luna blinked at him in confusion. "You don't read?"

"I... no." Greg could feel the flush growing darker.

"Why not?" Luna asked with a little worry line between her brows.

Normally, Greg would lash out in anger when anyone teased him about being stupid, or too dumb to read, but he knew that Luna would never do that. She was honestly curious, and what was more she actually cared about his answer. He sighed heavily.

"The letters... they jumble up," he tried to explain. Luna watched him carefully. He waved a paintbrush in the air. "I look at the words, but they don't make any sense."

"Gregory," Luna paused and seemed to consider her next words. "Are you dyslexic?"

"What?" Greg blinked at her.

"Dyslexic," Luna repeated. She gave him a small smile. "It's something Hermione explained to me once. It's a condition that Muggles have discovered that makes it difficult for some people to read." She paused again and then made a frustrated sort of gesture. "There's a sort of miscommunication between your eyes and your brain."

"Huh." Greg stared at Luna for several long minutes. The years of teasing and taunting from all of his schoolmates—the disgust and frustration of most of his teachers—weighed heavily on Greg in that moment. He was so overwhelmed with a chaotic swirl of emotions that he couldn't speak.

"There!" Luna pointed at him excitedly. She pushed him toward the canvas. "Paint," she commanded.

Greg painted. He couldn't tell you how many hours passed, or to be honest if days had passed as well. Occasionally, there would be a sandwich or a cup of tea at his easel and he would eat and drink when he noticed them. Finally, he was done. Luna moved to stand next to him and she stared at it with her large grey eyes flicking from place to place.

"Well?" He demanded at last.

"This... this is beautiful," Luna whispered and when she looked up at him there were tears in her eyes. She threw her arms around him and hugged him as tightly as she could. "I knew you could do it," he thought he heard her whisper.

"Um, thanks," he muttered.

Luna pulled back and grinned up at him. "Hermione's coming tomorrow. She wants to speak with you."

"Because of the Muggle condition? Dys... dys-whatever?" Greg guessed. Luna nodded. He rubbed a hand on his chin, unknowingly smearing Prussian Blue along his jaw. "I probably should," he decided.

"Sleep first," Luna told him. She pulled back and eyed him critically. "And perhaps a bath."

He nodded suddenly exhausted.

/\/\/\/\

Later, Greg would admit privately to himself that he hadn't recognized Harry Potter's best friend. The war had changed all of them, and the slender, watchful witch who was sitting in Luna's tiny parlor was no exception. There was a hardness to her face and in her eyes that he did not recall from school.

"Look, Gregory, Hermione's come," Luna told him excitedly. She had skipped up to him and then paused as though she weren't certain what to do with herself.

"Miss Granger," he rumbled at her and bowed.

"Mr Goyle," Granger replied. Her gaze had narrowed on Luna and flicked toward him occasionally. "Luna says that you... she thinks you might be dyslexic."

Greg shrugged. "Dunno."

Granger shot him a look that he remembered her giving to Potter and Weasley. "Let's just find out, shall we?"

That afternoon was the most excruciating of his entire life. He could not remember a time that had been more stressful or frustrating. He tried to do everything that Granger asked him to do. By the time they were done he had a raging headache and he could feel how tight and tense his shoulders were. He longed to go home, have a hot bath, and a nice lie down, but from the look in Granger's eye that wasn't happening any time soon.

"You have dyslexia," she told him with a strange expression on her face.

"Right. Is there a potion for that?" He asked gruffly.

Granger shook her head. "No. It's just something that you'll have to work on." She paused and shot a sly glance at Luna. "Perhaps Luna might help you."

"Of course," Luna agreed immediately.

Granger's lips twitched. "Of course," she agreed. She turned and looked up at Greg. "I'd like to meet with you once a month, if that's all right. I'm sure that Luna will be able to help you with the day-to-day work."

Greg nodded silently.

"Excellent." Granger smiled at him then and it lit up her whole face.

"Thank you so much for coming, Hermione." Luna rose and hugged her friend tightly. She pulled back and smile at her. "You ought to come visit more. Don't be such a stranger."

Granger shrugged, and Greg could feel her gaze slide over him before she replied. "I wouldn't want to intrude."

"Please do," Luna argued. "Gregory's my only student and he only comes on Wednesdays and Fridays."

"Perhaps I shall," Hermione agreed after a moment.

/\/\/\/\

In just a short span of time, a matter of months, Greg had gone from having his days stretch out into aching loneliness to having his time filled up quite nicely. On Tuesdays and Thursdays Luna came to Goyle Park and worked with him for two hours each day on his reading. On Wednesdays and Thursdays he went to Luna's small studio to paint. The last Friday of every month Granger, who insisted that he call her Hermione, would come and check on his progress. Those Fridays were usually followed by tea with Gran—Hermione and Luna. Greg rather liked the fact that his time had become so full. It gave him a cozy, secure feeling that he hadn't felt since before his mother's death. The fact that it was all due to an ethereal Ravenclaw, and one rather determined Gryffindor didn't bother him at all. In fact, it reminded him of something his mother used to like to say to him. _It just goes to show you never can tell._


End file.
